


Skip the Gunpowder; just Treason and Plots.

by One_Real_Imonkey



Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attempted Murder, Conspiracy, Episode: s02e10 Gunpowder Treason and Plot, Gen, George Washington is a Dad, Hurt/Comfort, Season 2, Spying, Torture, season 2 finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:00:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26741785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/One_Real_Imonkey/pseuds/One_Real_Imonkey
Summary: Charles Lee's whole plan relied on the British having the advantage at Monmouth. Ben Tallmadge could be a threat to that. Or... this was a good opportunity to rid himself of that pest once and for all.
Relationships: Benjamin Tallmadge & George Washington
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28





	1. Battle

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own.  
> Here's a new story, please enjoy.

Lee cursed the damn boy. 

He was a plant, he had to be. There was no way Washington’s pet would end up under his command unless Washington wanted him there and the boy was a spy so if Washington had sent him to Lee, he suspected Lee. 

Their whole plan could go down the drain if Tallmadge found details of his treachery to send Washington before he could put his plan into play.

But it was fine. He and Bradford could keep things in check, keep him in the dark, until the battle. He was only a major, they could  corral his questions for long enough. Then, he would put Tallmadge right at the front of the battle and he’d be dead before the end of the day. 

He knew Tallmadge had publicly somewhat fallen out of favour of Washington after trying to tell him Lee was a traitor. Now, Washington was sending him for proof, to keep an eye on Lee. Maybe the break in their relationship was all for show, strong as ever behind closed doors, a trap for traitors to think there was space in the rift between the two to act.

He tried to imagine how Washington would look and feel, realising Lee had thrown the battle, costing them men and land and moral, realising Tallmadge was dead and that it was no accident.

How Washington’s face would twist at the sight of the boy’s broken body, open unseeing eyes, bloodstained jacket. How his lips would press at the name on the casualty list. Would he yell at the messenger who had to deliver the report, or would he arrive with his forces too late to do anything more than collect the bodies for burial? Would he be the one to find Tallmadge’s body, or would he be brought to it? Would he cry, sob for the boy he’d lost? Would he break down in the safe privacy of his own tent? Or would he drop to his knees at the side of the body and lose his control then and there?

He sighed aloud at the thought, safe in the privacy of his own tent. 

Tomorrow evening, Washington would receive news of their loss at Monmouth.

He’d find Benjamin Tallmadge on the casualty list.

They would make sure of it.

It would be difficult, he knew. Tallmadge was worse than a cockroach, he’d survived a run in with the Queen’s Rangers that he himself had set up and then several more with them and their leader after he readily informed Robert Rodgers of the boy’s name. Even then he’d known the boy was a threat to his efforts, because if the Continentals had spies and good information and strong units like his, they could prolong the war. His position had afforded him the information that Tallmadge had been tasked with helping create a spy ring, and he knew the boy had managed.

They'd needed him dead.

The boy  escaped death every time.

But this time he would die, either by British bullets, or by the hand of some of his most loyal men.


	2. Confrontations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own.  
> Please enjoy.

Charles Lee actually had to pause when both Tallmadge and his man Brewster drew their swords in  retaliation to his orders for Bradford to do the same.

In the midst of their retreat, Tallmadge cutting in front of the convoy and asking what he was doing, questioning why he hadn’t held the line, as he predicably would, had been perfect.  Sure, the boy  hadn't died in the battle, and he’d be asking Bradford what had happened in regard to that later, but this was his chance to rid himself of the snaky bastard.

Hang him from the tree for desertion if he did not move.

He’d expected the boy to fall in line at the threat, not hold fast, not  prepare to fight.

But the sound of hooves echoed down the path, and there was something in Tallmadge’s eyes, he didn’t know what, and then it all clicked into place as the horses came into view.

Washington.

Washington was... here.

No, this couldn’t happen. The plan only worked with reinforcements a day behind, they were a day behind, how could they be here.

Tallmadge.

He'd done this. 

His reigns warped in his grip and he was sure his every emotion flashed across his face as they ripped through him before he managed to regain his self-control.

Lee didn’t know when nor how, but Tallmadge had made sure Washington would be here, and outsmarted Lee’s careful planning with careless ease.

He hadn’t had a clue, not a hint, that this was coming.

He'd been sure Washington’s orders to change the plans on Tallmadge’s advice would come before the attack, if they came at all. He'd been certain, when they set off without someone coming to tell them the plan had changed on Washington’s orders, that he’d succeeded despite Tallmadge’s actions. That Tallmadge was too late to stop him. 

Too late to stop him, but he'd still needed Tallmadge dead, so Washington could not learn any truths the boy uncovered about his plans after the battle. Getting hung for treason in the aftermath of a massacre was not something he desired.

He'd been so confident as they rode off without Washington coming in to stop them, that he’d wondered if the arguments between Washington and Tallmadge, the ones he’d been sure were a rouse to draw traitors out of the woodwork, might actually have been real. If Tallmadge had come to him on his own, in some heroic attempt to stop him without Washington’s support. To save as many men as he could and save as much of the battle as he could.

Maybe Washington hadn’t believed him when he’d said Lee was a traitor... maybe he had managed to fool their great leader.

What a fool he’d been to think such things.

When had the boy even had time to discover his treachery, or his plans? How had he known? 

Lee just couldn’t figure it out.

Washington's arrival had taken him so completely by surprise, thrown him so absolutely, that he actually forgot all his rehearsed lies and responses and excuses. He was left to flounder like a fool.

“General Lee, I’ve had a most disturbing report from a young fifer  traveling in the wrong direction from the battle.”

“Sir, I... I thought you were a day behind us.”

“Why are your men in retreat?”

“They... there has been some  confusion , Sir.”

“There remains some. Why are your men in  retreat? ”

“Circumstances prevented a proper advance and I  did not think a major action was in the best interest of America at this time.”

“You did not thing?! You damned poltroon! You never tried them! You should not have requested this command if you did not intent do attack! What the Hell are you about, man?”

“I apologise, Your Excellency.”

“To the Rear, sir.”

“Sir... sir...”

“I said to the rear! Colonel Bradford, how far are their cavalry?”

“15 minutes, sir.”

“Major, ride out to General Wayne and General Scott. Have them hold up the enemy while I form a defensive line with the  artillery .”

“Yes sir.”

He caught the looks exchanged between Washington and Tallmadge as he was ordered to the back of the column, as they made orders to recover the situation, orders that had been thought through with the accuracy of someone who had known how he planned to fail.

That damned look of almost smug pride on their faces, on Washington’s face in particular. 

The look of satisfaction on Tallmadge's at their recovering the situation and the proud fatherly affection practically glowing on Washington’s face under his anger. The light in his eyes very time his gaze drifted to Tallmadge.

Those cocky bastards.

Suddenly, as he rode through Washington’s columns to his ordered position in the back, he realised he had no idea how much they knew. The assassins, how many spies there were... did they know one of Washington’s life guards was an assassin, did they know Bradford was in on his plans? Surely not, if they were keeping him to the front.

Could they have learnt that he had his men ordered to kill Tallmadge, not Washington, at least at first?

No, surely, they  could not know all that.

And yet...

He wanted Washington to suffer, and  losing a son would do that.

André said the British wanted Washington dead, that the assassins should target him, and he knew André wanted Tallmadge alive and in his grasp; to be broken apart piece by piece for his spy rings and information. 

But Lee didn’t care.

He'd failed. He'd failed to deliver Monmouth, and if Washington could bring a victory, and with the planning he seemed to have done made it seem likely, then he did not want to face the fate the British may bring.

He could fake incompetence, as much of a blow to his pride as it may be, and he'd lose his rank but not his life. But  without his rank he could not pass any valuable information, and even if he was proven innocent at a trail, he knew Tallmadge would never  cease watching him.

But he was no use to the British anymore.

Even if he delivered Tallmadge to them in a bow...

He'd be killed quickly if he was lucky, quietly and without publicity, just vanishing. If he wasn’t, he’d end up rotting and alone, in a cell or on the streets. The traitor who failed when it was his mission to lose.

“Asher.”

“Sir.”

“Why the Hell is Tallmadge still alive?”

He didn’t care much about being overheard, surrounded by his own men at the back of the column. The only people who could hear this were men who were loyal to him, as much traitors to the continental  cause as he.

“We... sir... we weren’t expecting the General to arrive so soon, we thought we had more time.”

“You should have killed him during the first retreat, in case anything went wrong.”

“Yes sir. We're sorry sir.”

“I will likely be arrested or at the very least watched once we get back to camp. Tallmadge knows of us, of our plot, he cannot be allowed to get this information to Washington, or we will all be hanged. Tallmadge, if he lives through the battle, if our men up near the front with him cannot remove him, must die.”

“Sir.”

“He dies. Painfully if you can manage it, but dead he must be.”

He didn’t care if he disobeyed André here, Tallmadge had just cost him everything, and he would die. 

And Washington would be allowed to mourn, before he joined his pet snake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading.  
> Please R+R.


	3. Lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still not mine.  
> Please enjoy the next chapter.

“Mr Brewster, to what do I owe this  interruption .”

“I have information. I know I'm supposed to go through Benny, Major Tallmadge, that is, but I can’t find him and this is urgent, sir, so I figured it would be better to give straight to you.”

“ Information ?”

“From Culper Jr, our new man in New York.”

Brewster was right this was supposed to go through Benjamin, but he wasn’t going to turn down information,  especially not after the day they’d had.

The report was  brief but shocking, and disheartening enough to make him sag.

So many of his men... one of  his lifeguards ... how deep did this plot go?

Brewster, who he  suspected had already read the report, looked grim.

“Where is Bradford? Where is Tallmadge?”

“Ben? No idea, which worries me more than I'd like to admit, because he was supposed to lead Bradford to me so we could take him before he attacked anyone else or escaped, I left a few of the Dragoons to take my place. We don’t know where Bradford is either.”

Washington nodded, “Find Ben, and have the men on this list arrested by men you trust, I know you have a small group you keep in the know, use them. Don't charge them with treason, we need morale up, hence why Lee was tried for his incompetence rather than his treachery.”

“Counterfeiting, infighting, theft, I'll get to it sir.”

Brewster left, and he sank into his chair.

There were traitors everywhere, and now more than ever did he need advice from Tallmadge or Sackett. But Nathaniel Sackett was dead and Ben Tallmadge was apparently nowhere to be found.

And their new source, Culper Jr... He wondered how long their new man had been part of the ring, and was stuck by how long it had been since he’d actually held a conversation with Tallmadge, work related or otherwise. A verbal conversation, rather than the summarised information packets that ended up on his desk, all names and backstories removed, just the information gathered and how they could work with it.

He'd already overheard two of Lee’s men claiming their plan being foiled due to ‘Washington putting his pet snake into Lee’s command structure to could report back’ but... but to his shame that wasn’t the truth. He hadn’t sent Benjamin in, as smart of an idea as it was, to spy on Lee. Benjamin had put himself into that position in order to protect their men and cause, knowing the risks, and Lee had assumed he was behind it.

Lee had overestimated the closeness of their workings. 

Lee... Lee’s betrayal had thrown him more than he would say out loud to anyone but Tallmadge or perhaps Martha. And to Tallmadge it would be said when he apologised. He should have kept him in the loop, let him know that he planned on having Lee dismissed for incompetence and countering his actions rather than trying him for treason. 

They needed the French alliance and if he’d thought to explain his plan to Ben...

But he hadn’t and in his search for proof, Ben had tried to entrap Lee. Furious that his own plans had been knocked, furious their alliance might be compromised, he hadn’t thought to explain himself to Ben in full, and then Sackett had died and after the fallout of that they’d barely spoken.

How had  Ben dealt with Sackett’s death, he wondered. They'd grown close, mentor and mentee, and Ben had been livid with him in the aftermath. Righteous anger because he’d been right about Sutherland, Gamble, the report had said, and the bastard had killed their friend and escaped with classified documents. 

If Geroge were less stubborn he would have admitted that he’d been wrong, but Ben had left on another mission and neither of them had been on good enough terms since to broach the subject. He knew Ben had continued in his work with  intelligence , official role and open communication or not, knew the man had never stopped keeping an eye on Lee, or trying to protect him and the interests of their cause.

It had been a series of mistakes and miscommunications, truthfully most of them on his part, and he planned to apologise when Tallmadge returned. He needed to apologise when Tallmadge returned.

He knew Benjamin was still on his side, still loyal, and that from the second they’d rendezvoused on that path near Monmouth, that Ben had understood his plan,  relief and realisation dawning in his eyes. He was an incredibly smart man with a quickly analytical mind, of course he’d worked it out.

Ben had been smart enough to work out, not only that Sutherland was an assassin, but that his target was not George at all. His being too late to save Sackett was not a fault of his mind or skill, but suddenly George feared the boy had shouldered the blame.

‘You act as though you have adopted the boy.’ Nathaniel had said once, after Ben had left a meeting. 

Had he been carrying that weight all that time?

_ ‘Is this one of the boys you have decided to adopt, dear?’ _ Martha had written after he’d praised Ben’s work in a letter home.

Had he believed Washington blamed him for Nathaniel's death? 

He had a lot to talk to Ben about, once Brewster found him.

.

.

.

“Sir, we can’t find Benny, he  ain’t in the camp.”

Washington flew to his feet, slamming his hands on the table. 

“What do you mean he isn’t in the camp?”

Hours had gone by since Brewster had first come with the letter, spent trapped in his tent, patiently waiting for the arrests to be made and more importantly, for Ben to arrive so they could talk. Now they were saying Ben wasn’t even in the camp!

“We can’t find him. We’ve asked around, no-one's seen him since before sundown. We've asked people to keep a lookout, but he’s nowhere, not by any of the fires, not his own tent, not medical or getting food or on patrol or guard duty or tending to the horses. Neither is Bradford, or a few of Lee’s other goons.”

That boded badly. So badly. He wanted to believe he was just taking a step away from camp after a long battle, after a tiring winter. He wanted to believe that like this new Culper Jr, he had a new contact, and had left camp to communicate with them, or that he had simply been missed in the crowds by those searching for him.

But he knew none of those were true.

Benjamin was in danger.

He had let this go too long, and now Benjamin was in danger.

“Sir, we will keep looking, but for now, the men in the letter we can account for have been arrested, as well as a few from Ben’s own list. You should be out of danger, but even still, I've added a few guards from Benny’s dragoons, people he trusts with everything he has until we have Bradford and the other missing men. You'll be safe.”

“Right now, I care about more than my own safety, Brewster. There are assassins in my camp, my head of intelligence is missing after working to discover them, General Lee is a traitor...”

“I know sir. We will find him, and we will free ourselves from the traitors.”

“Send out scouts, make sure guard rotations are being fulfilled and are suitable, make sure we can account for ever man in this camp.”

“Yes Sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading.  
> Please R+R.


	4. Found

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own.  
> Next chapter, here it is. I don't know what my upload schedule is going to be over the next few weeks because someone in my Dorms caught Covid and we've got at least 14 days of lockdown not to mention not knowing if any of us are infected. All is fine, but it could mess up writing etc. Or I could write loads. Who knows...  
> Please enjoy.

It was pre-dawn, sky light and streaked with magnificent colours but sun not yet breaching the horizon, when a member of the 2 nd Dragoons, Buckley, burst into his tent. Washington hadn’t slept since finding out Tallmadge was missing, not only because he needed to talk to his Chief of Intelligence but also because he knew this was a targeted attack. One of his inner  circle had been attacked and he needed to be reassured of his safety. Likewise, Brewster had barely left his side since confirming Ben was nowhere in the camp, except to issue orders and check in with his men.

“Sir, we found him. We found Tallmadge, he’s...God. He’s...” Buckley shook his head, and mutely led Washington towards the west of the camp at a jog. Billy Lee and Brewster followed behind them.

George saw what they had noticed as they passed the last tents, but before he could verbalise his reaction, another man, Willson, reached them from the direction they were headed. He grasped Buckley’s arms and gasped, “He’s still alive, Buck, he’s alive. I'm getting a doctor, he’s still alive.” 

He then sprinted past them, heading further into camp.

Buckley looked amazed, before taking off at a run towards the treeline. Geroge had no qualms in following after him at a similar speed, and neither, it seemed, did his companions.

More details became clear as they got closer. Benjamin Tallmadge was hanging from the tree, bare-chested and covered in blood. He wouldn’t have recognised it was Tallmadge from their distance, had Buckley not already confirmed it was him.

It appeared Willson and Buckey had been alone in finding Tallmadge, because with Wilson running to get a doctor, Ben had been left alone. Ben had been clear to see from the edge of camp, but with the sun not quite up yet, and the heavy drinking the night before, it was likely most of the men hadn’t woken yet to look.

He came to a stop at Ben’s side, and could easily see why they’d assumed he was dead. He was pale, lips blue, and it contrasted starkly with the blood that covered his torso and legs, and there was a knife protruding from his stomach. His attacker had stripped him to his undergarments, his boots and clothes dumped in a shredded heap on the floor near the tree he was hanging from. His upper torso and shoulder joints had been cut into and bruised by the ropes he was hung by, looping like a noose around his upper body under his arms which were tied behind his back. Still, George thanked God he was hung in this way. If he’d been hung by his neck, they’d never have found him alive.

Brewster pulled a knife from his boot and cut apart his wrists and the rope holding him up, as George and Buckley supported the weight of his body and lowered him to the ground. It might not have been warmer but the weight on his shoulders was reduced completely. Ben's head was resting on his knees, and he couldn’t help but notice how cold the man was, having spent the winters night in his undergarments, outside.

He removed the gag from Ben’s mouth, and wiped at the trails of dried blood along his face.

He had to stop his breath catching in his throat when the rising sun revealed the knife stuck to the hilt in his stomach was one given to him by Nathaniel Sackett before his death.

There was a lot of blood. Much of it had trailed down his legs to the floor below him. There was too much blood.

But worse, the knife was below where the blood started, meaning there had been another wound across his torso. He'd been tortured by his attackers. His unknown attackers who were likely in league with Lee, a man who he’d let run wild for the sake of an alliance and because he needed morale not to be crushed when Lee acted. 

He should have kept Ben informed.

Kept him close.

The doctor dropped to Bens other side and George realised he hadn’t noticed the  man's arrival. 

Willson had a stretcher and had called for Buckley to help set it up.

The doctor, Robert Strand, looked grim as he asked for them to take him to the medical tent, gently but quickly.

“I cannot treat him here,” he said, “but we must act quickly, and the knife cannot be jostled or moved or the bleeding could worsen and he’s already lost a dangerous amount of blood.”

George followed them back to the medical tent, still filled with the injured from the battle whose injuries were more than superficial. The faces of the men as they passed through camp were painful to see. Ben Tallmadge had saved a lot of people during the battle, and even though most of them didn’t know the extent of how true it was, they clearly worried for the man they owed their lives to.

Not to mention his disappearance had been known through camp, despite the revelry, with everyone fearing his being attacked. No-one had believed he could have deserted. His actions earlier that day had convinced them of that if nothing else and if anyone had voiced a worry he had deserted, they had been quashed before word had made it to Washington’s ears.

George refused to leave as he was treated. If Ben woke, even for a minute, they could learn the identities of those who had attacked him.

But as the doctor cleaned the blood from Ben’s chest, he resisted a gag once again. His view had been obstructed but he was certain he had seen letters under the blood.

Letters.

Someone had carved words onto Ben’s chest.

“Shallow, they might scar but they don’t need immediate treatment, let's work on the knife and come back to these later.” he heard the doctor say to his assistant.

They might scar. Ben might have whatever message his enemy had carved onto his chest for the rest of his life.

“Sir,” It was one of his guards, “you should get some sleep.”

“No, if he  wakes, I need to know who did this.”

“General, Sir,” the doctor interrupted, “he won’t wake. Not yet. He is too cold, he has lost too much blood, and will likely lose more before we are finished, he has been taxed and strained too much. It may be days or weeks before he has strength to wake, provided he does not weaken further or gain infection.”

He understood the other meaning behind the doctor's words. If Ben worsened, he might never wake, he might not make it to the end of the day. Part of him refused the idea of leaving, wanting to be by Ben’s side if his wound won out and he passed on. He didn’t want the boy to die alone, didn’t want to be sleeping when the boy died.

“I... understand.”

“Take a break, sir. I'll stay for now.”

Goerge was suddenly struck with how tired he truly was, and nodded as he acquiesced. Brewster wouldn’t let Ben  down; they’d been friends for too long for that.

There would be other ways to find out who attacked him.

And he would find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading.   
> Please R+R.


	5. Searching.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own.  
> This chapters a little heavier on the torture side of things, just a warning. It's in the bit in italics.  
> Please enjoy.

_ Ben rounded the corner of the tent, and something slammed into his stomach. As he doubled over, something else came down across his shoulders, hard. He crumpled to the floor, wheezing. _

_ “Fucking piece of shit spy.” _

_ Bradford! _

_ He lashed out with the knife he kept concealed in his sleeve, causing one of his attackers to drop. _

_ A boot struck hard in his stomach, and another on his back, his legs, the knife slipped out of his hand. All he could do was curl in on himself and try to protect his organs.  _ _ Then there were hands, one over his mouth, more holding his wrists and ankles. _

_ "Quickly, restrain him, before Washington sends someone looking for his wayward pet, and someone take care of Franks.” _

_ Something was forced into his mouth, a sock, a pair of woollen gloves, he wasn’t sure. Ropes fastened around his wrists and ankles and then he was being hauled across the frozen mud, away from the lights and tents that marked the safety of the camp.  _

_ Somewhere in the midst of the journey be found amusement in Bradford springing his ambush when Ben had been trying to lead him into one of his own. He'd been too slow, once again. At least this time he was the one who would pay for  _ _ it. _ _ Caleb had the intel, he’d protect Washington, and the war. _

_ It wasn’t long before trees blocked out the moon and the only light above was that of the torches his assailants carried. _

_ Eventually, they came to a stop, and a boot rolled him onto his back, which pressed down uncomfortably on his arms trapped and bound beneath him. _

_ There were boots holding his body down before he could attempt to roll away, not that he’d get far. _

_ “Hello, Major, fancy meeting you here.” _

_ Ben scowled through the gag. _

_ The other men were Matt Asher, Tom Forbes and Beck Jacobs. He'd known about Asher and Forbes, but Jacobs was a traitor too? God, who next, Arnold? How many ‘loyal’ men were still loyal to their cause? _

_ Bradford knelt down next to him, and in the torchlight, a blade glinted. _

_ His knife. The one he kept in his sleeve for easy access. The one Nathaniel Sackett gave him before his death. He was hit by the sudden painful realisation that he was going to die by the last gift of his now dead friend. He was going to die on his own blade. _

_ He shivered uncontrollably as his clothes were cut from his body, strip and chunk at a time, flinching when the blade cut the skin, but not giving them the satisfaction of making a noise.  _

_ It wasn’t long until he was in nothing but his undergarments, in the snowy mud below. His boots and the fabric had been thrown to the side as nothing more than waste. Bradford smiled a savage grin, straddled his chest, knife flashing, and then the real pain began. _

_ Ben didn’t pass out. It was close, but no matter how painful it was, he stayed awake. He couldn’t risk passing out. He didn’t know what Bradford was doing to him, most likely taking out his anger and making his body a horrific omen for his finders, but it was one of the most painful things he’d lived through. _

_ If he lived... _

_ Eventually, the knife left his chest, dripping blood onto the forest floor below. Before the weight lifted from his body, the knife ghosted down his cheeks. They didn’t break the skin, but the blood on the blade left marks, he could feel it, the warm contrast on his freezing face. The blade pressed against his lower lip, before pulling away completely. Then Bradford was gone too. _

_ He didn’t have the strength to look up at the wound, let alone struggle as they looped a rope under his arms, round his chest. For a while nothing happened, then the rope tightened and he was hoisted into the air until his feet were off the ground. He thanked God as the rope pulled itself  _ _ taut _ _ above the mess his torso had become. _

_ It took everything he had in him to raise his head to meet Bradford’s eyes, but he wasn’t giving him the satisfaction of seeing Ben’s weakness. _

_ “I can’t wait to watch them find you Benny. See that behind me, those lights, that’s the camp, it so  _ _ so _ _ close isn’t it. They'd probably be able to hear you if you screamed, though their drunken revelry may be  _ _ too _ _ loud for that, and the gag of course. Come dawn, your body will be in view for them all to see.” _

_ “Go to hell.” it was muffled by the gag, but it looked like Bradford got the gist of it. _

_ Bradford was suddenly close, there was a sharp burning pain in his stomach and he choked in air as the breath was knocked from him and in his ear, Bradford whispered one final message,  _

_ “I hope you die slowly, bastard. And don't worry, Washington will join you in the afterlife soon enough.” _

_ And then he was alone. _

_ He could feel blood leaking down his legs, dripping off his toes. It was getting harder and harder to stay awake. _

_ The first bands of colour touched the sky in what looked to be a beautiful dawn and he fell into oblivion. _

.

.

.

“Sir, Major Tallmadge is, miraculously, out of danger. He should recover. The stab wound, by grace of God, was neither infected nor damaging anything unfixable. We have warmed him up and managed to get both broth and water down his throat. However, I think you should see this.”

“Show me.”

The doctor drew back the bandages on Ben’s chest, confirming what he had believed.

The cuts were raw and messy, surrounded by deep bruising and plplacedced jusjust under t under thick rope burn, but without the blood, the letteletteringing wasas easy to read.

_ ‘ _ _ PATRIOTS BEWARE!’ _

It could almost be seen as a British attack, he’d been grabbed by the camp edge and accosted in the darkness, but he knew it wasn’t. Knew because Ben had too many enemies within the camp, knew because of Lee’s face when he’d arrived and when he’d discovered Tallmadge had survived the fight despite his actions.

Still, he thanked the doctor and let himself fall into the chair next to the cot.

Ben did look healthier. His lips were no longer blue and his skin, while pale, no longer held the pallor of the dead. He shivered in his sleep, from the cold and blood loss rather than infection, despite the blankets and fire.

He was covered in bruises, most of them boot  shaped. He'd been beaten, tied, mutilated and hung for them to see. It was not God who had spared him from death, but the sadism of the men who had captured him, hoping for him to suffer a slow death.

Providence, however, had spared him from infection, but there would be a long way to go before he was recovered enough to do more than write at a desk, and even that could be a way off, judging by the state of his now bandaged wrists. 

Was it better the head of intelligence be confined behind a desk? Part of him, the selfish part that saw Ben as a son, said yes, said keep him in your tent or next to it, safe and sound and under guard.

He knew it wasn’t feasible. Knew Ben wouldn’t stay behind a desk, knew part of how he was as effective as he was in his job was his ability to move around and talk with his men and gauge the opinions of a group. Knew he used his role leading the Dragoons to his advantage.

If, when, Ben recovered enough to get back onto a horse and fight, he would do so.

He was a soldier and a spy.

George couldn’t stop him.

For now, though, he needed Ben to recover, and be safe. And for that, they needed to capture his attackers. Bradford was no-where to be seen, but whether he’d fled after attacking Ben, knowing he’d been discovered, or whether he was lying in wait somewhere near, they didn’t know. 

There were over 100 men who could not be accounted for, and that number quadrupled when you considered most of the men’s alibis were each other and therefor harder to confirm. Any of them could be the spies. Any of them. All 28 of the men on Tallmadge’s list bar two had been arrested, but there were more than likely several more through the camp who were part of the scheme. 

In top of that they'd found Jack Franks, a guard, dead with a knife wound on his leg; he’d bled out and there were signs of a fight nearby, all of this by the western edge of the camp. He may have been wounded by Ben as he fought capture, but it was equally likely he had been a witness to the attack, silenced by Bradford and his men. He didn’t want to shame the name of an innocent man if he could help it and they were more than capable of it.

Ben was in danger until they were all accounted for.

Ben needed guards.

More than he did. He'd already heard too many of Lee’s spies and traitors cursing Ben for their plan’s failure from their cells. He was on their list as a target, high on it, he was sure, but Ben was at the top, and injured, and until the last few were arrested his life was in danger.

Bradford and the two other men on Ben’s list, Matt Asher and Tom Forbes, needed to be in their custody or dead before he’d even consider relaxing any guard, he put around the boy, and even then, he’d be keeping watch.

.

.

.

Ben woke slowly, disoriented and very confused, but George was incredibly glad to see it. Waking up, the doctors said, was a sure sign of a good recovery. Now he was awake, now he was going to recover.

As long as none of Lee’s men killed him before he could get better.

He pushed that thought out of his head. He didn’t have time for it, not here, not now. Not ever.

He'd protect Ben, Ben would recover, they’d keep fighting on until the British gave.

And if they lost, they’d lose in battle, not because there were traitors and assassins in their camp.

“Hey, Tallmadge, Ben, you with me.”

Ben groaned but didn’t respond properly and a few seconds later the doctor was checking him over. By the end of the examination Ben was asleep again, but the doctor insisted it was a good sign. That he’d wake again in a few hours, stronger and more capable of telling them what they needed to know.

“General, you’ve been here for hours.”

“If he wakes properly, he can give us the names of his attackers.”

“We can ask sir,” Doctors Strand’s assistant interrupted, “I mean, I...” 

“Mr Jacobs is right, sir. If he wakes again before you return, we can ask him who attacked him.”

“Of course. I... I'm going to update the others who are waiting and make sure everything is in order.”

“Yes sir.”

His legs were stiff as he stood, but Brewster and Ben’s Dragoons were waiting for an update, and he had a camp to run.

He paused at the door to the tent. There were at least 4 men he could see subtly stationed around the tent on watch for Lee’s men. No-one but a few authorised men were to be allowed in. Dr Strand, his assistant Jacobs, himself, Brewster, Billy Lee and the guards they had  stationed , that was it.

“Billy, stay here, don’t let Ben out of your sight.”

“Yes sir.”

He was not letting Ben die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading.  
> Please R+R.


	6. Surviving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own.  
> Please enjoy.

Ben woke very confused. He was pretty sure he’d fluttered in and out of consciousness a few times before, some of which Washington had been there for, but this time he was thinking clearly. 

Then Doctor Strand was over him, checking his eyes, asking if he could hear him. 

He nodded and tried to speak, but between the pain and the soreness in his throat, he couldn’t get the words out. 

“It’s ok, Major Tallmadge, the pain will pass as you recover. I’m going to give you a painkiller, ok?” 

He nodded. 

“Ok, Jacobs, get the Laudanum.” 

Jacobs? Jacobs! He felt his own eyes go wide, but Strand was looking away. His breath was hitching, but clearly the doctor thought it was from the pain he was in. 

“The pain will pass soon, Major. Oh, Washington wanted to know, do you have any names of your attackers, I need to ask?” 

“Jacobs,” he rasped. He gripped Strands sleeve with all the strength he had, like if he let go, he would float away. 

“Yes Major, Mr Jacobs is getting the pain reliever, the pain will pass.” 

“No, Bradford, Asher, Forbes, Franks...” 

Jacobs appeared on the other side. 

“...Jacobs.” 

“Good to see you awake Major.” 

Jacobs misunderstood his meaning, but he felt Strand freeze. 

Jacobs was drawing the syringe, if he was injected with the painkiller, he’d fall unconscious and no-one but Strand would know the truth. And if Strand was also in on the conspiracy, he’d be dead in his sleep. If Strand was in on it, he was already dead. 

If Jacobs gave him too much, he’d be dead. 

He felt the needle prick his arm, and the world exploded as it went black. 

. 

. 

. 

When Ben woke next, he was in far less pain. 

More importantly, he was alive. 

“Tallmadge, Tallmadge, can you hear me?” 

“G’n’r’l?” 

“Oh thank God.” 

Caleb? 

“Wha’?” 

From his left, the General explained, and he did his best to keep up as his mind settled from its disorientation. 

“I left Billy Lee to keep an eye on you. When Jacobs tried to attack, he and Strand were able to stop him long enough for the guards to arrest Jacobs. They were too slow to stop him from trying to injecting you though. If he’d managed to give you the full dose, you’d have passed in your sleep. You'd be dead. As it was we nearly didn’t... the dose was so high...” 

He nodded, still to fuzzy to properly respond beyond one- or two-word responses. He decided on a question, 

“How long?” 

“9 days, little over a week. They worried you weren’t going to wake, but you’re up now.” 

“Jacobs?” 

“Arrested the bastard. For murder and attempted murder and treason. God, it scares me to think how many men died in his care because he killed them instead of saving them.” 

“Brewster arrested everyone on your list, Major. Everyone except Forbes, Asher and Bradford, who are all missing. Dr Strand said you named them as your attackers.” 

“Ye... yeah. N' Franks. N' some... someone else. Didn't see.” 

“Franks is dead.” 

“Mm... stabbed him.” 

“You have no idea who the last man was.” 

“No. Bradford... didn’t say, sir.” 

“Brewster, patrols, guards, keep it all going and keep it quiet.” 

“Yes sir.” Caleb saluted, “Benny, it’s good to see you awake. Get better fast, yeah, I don’t like being in charge of your men. Besides, your students are waiting for you to get back. I ain’t taking over teaching them if you die.” 

He offered a grin, but nothing more. 

And then he and the General were alone. 

“We need to talk, Major, but not yet. You look like you’re about to fall asleep again, and Strand said that was normal.” 

“Sir?” 

“Rest, recover. Then we’ll talk.” 

Ben knew it was rude to fall asleep while someone was talking, but he couldn’t fight it. 

And technically, he had been given permission, right? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading.  
> I hope you enjoyed it, even if it was a little short.  
> Please R+R


	7. Marching Onwards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter, I hope you enjoy.  
> I don't own.

“I’m sorry, Major.” 

“Sir?” 

A week had passed since he’d first woken up, and he was finally feeling like he was recovering. Sure, he hurt a lot, but not all the time. And he wasn’t falling asleep all the time, in fact, he could be awake almost all day, and was no longer feeling like he was floating. It seemed this qualified as a stable enough condition for the General to pay him as visit. 

“This would have gone more smoothly if you were kept in the loop, but instead I shut you out.” 

“It convinced Lee to hire me.” 

“Actually, he thought it was a rouse to get you into his ranks so you could spy in him, apparently. Incredibly well thought out on our part. Apparently, we were pretending to be divided and me pretending not to listen to your advice to create a trap for traitors to fall into, all the while we were actually in constant communication.” 

“Well, it worked.” 

“That should have been the truth. You're my head of Intelligence for a reason, I need you by my side. Like you said, this venture only works if we can trust each other, and on that I have failed you.” 

“I...” 

“I believed what you reported about Lee since 355 sent you the message. I also knew what a traitor would do to morale in the camp, especially one so hight up. I figured when he made his move, we could pin him for incompetence or something similar, and remove him that way.” 

“Without risking the alliance, I know sir. I worked it out.” 

“But the fact remains I should have told you this was my plan rather than let you work it out. It would have saved us the situation with the letters if I'd been open from the start.” 

“Isn’t setting someone up to fail also entrapment?” 

“We have a war to win. We can allow some necessary evils. And I must also apologise for letting my anger get the better of me after that. Had I read you in, that would never have happened, and even after that I should have read you in rather than locking you out.” 

“After Nathaniel died, I don’t blame you. I lashed out and I...” 

“No, you were right. You were right about Gamble and you were right about the attack and I ignored you, again, and you were right, again. That’s why I pardoned Hewlett when you asked, because the times I ignore your advice quite consistently lead to deaths.” 

“I have good people bringing me information.” 

“Indeed. And how long has our Mr Culper had a son?” 

“Not too long. You aren’t that out of the loop. Sir. But he’s... nhg...” 

Ben cut off as he shifted position and the pain flared up. His head was clearer, his voice was stronger, his body, yeah, still painful as fuck, and after his overdose at Jacobs hands, they were being conservative with how much pain reliever his body could handle, and therefore giving him very little of it. His breath was knocked from his lungs and it took him a few minutes to get it back under control. The General waited patiently the entire time. 

“Ben?” 

“I’m fine. I'm fine. Culper Jr, yes, he's permanently stationed in York city. Mr Culper won’t have to travel as much anymore. Mrs Culper, nee Strong, is also doing well, apparently, she has the favour and protection of Hewlett. They all want Simcoe dead though; I wish I'd killed him in the battle. Wish I'd killed him when Caleb and I first had him. His grudge against the ring could bring it down without his even knowing they’re spies.” 

“He’s the new head of the Queen’s Rangers, correct? We can probably lure the Rangers out into the field and away from Setauket.” 

“Speaking of, has there been any word on Robert Rodgers, sir? There's been nothing on my end.” 

“So far, no, but we have people all over the front looking for him. You think he’ll be a threat?” 

“To the ring, I don’t know. To me... I've humiliated him three or four times now. I'd rather have an eye on where he is. He wants me dead. Who doesn’t at the moment?” 

“We have most of them under lock and key now.” 

“What did you arrest them for? If we want to keep the treason quiet, what, you arrested them for other crimes instead?” 

“Exactly.” 

“Except Jacobs?” 

“He was caught trying to kill you, and we’re almost certain he’s killed others before. Bradford and the others who were in on it are also being charged with the same crimes and everyone is being made aware of what they did and to be on the lookout. The other attacker will face the same charges. You worked that out quickly.” 

“Every moment is a learning moment, sir. There is never a situation you cannot turn into a lesson or an opportunity to learn.” 

“Oh?” 

“That is true for everyone. For me, for you, for every adult and child on this planet.” 

“True words indeed.” 

“So, what next?” 

“You recover. We keep fighting. We push the British out of our country.” 

“To victory. To freedom.” 

“To our United States of America.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading.  
> Credit to Tumblr User Ms-March for the phrase 'every moment is a learning moment' and agreeing with me that this fandom needs to acknowledge more Teacher!Ben. I am in the process of writing another thing or two with Teacher!Ben, I hope more people hop on the train, Teacher!Ben is the hero we need.  
> Please R+R.

**Author's Note:**

> I know chapter one is short, but the rest of the story is longer.  
> Thanks for reading.  
> Please R+R.


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